[ that noise is what he wants, soft and pitched and very clear on what it likes exactly, and it makes peter's smile turn all the more warm, the sort of suffocating warmth that's part pristine teeth and supple lip. the hand that skims his thigh lays there briefly and he holds as fast as stone as it brushes, cups, holds in a way that peter wonders just what it'd feel like along bare skin, pushing, pressing, bruising, maybe.

we'll get to that.

he doesn't doubt it.

the healthy flush to dick's face tells him everything he needs to know, even here in the dark, and his teeth are impatient. to press, to bite--pulse, knuckles, fingers, the curve of a shoulder--

it takes a blink for peter to keep his head on as straight as it can be, to keep him from bristling with impatience here. the game is long and drawn out, but it is more than worth its playtime. he tilts his head, smile almost saccharine. ]

That shouldn't be a problem.

[ dick flutters away and peter feels it, the hand on his chin, the way the thumb presses into the divot of his lower lip enough that makes the space between his shoulders shiver pleasantly. at the remark to his second knife (where did that come from when he'd tossed the first?), he snaps this one closed soundly with a little snkt. there's an unspoken agreement as it slips into the tapered, lean cut of his jacket. ] Now. If you have to ask for that kind of promise... then perhaps it's best you make with a thorough search. These little things have the tendency to hide themselves away in some rather personal places.

[ a garter around the thigh, slid along the small of his back, a little sleek holster at the shoulder, two up each sleeve, thin and clever. ] I'm a gentleman above all else.